


Bootylicious

by Jenetica



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"A leaked tape hit YouTube last night that has taken the city by storm," Stephanie, a forty-year-old woman with a spray tan, says eagerly. "No one knows where the video came from or how they got this footage, but it's unmistakable: Spider-Man has discovered his booty."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bootylicious

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this was meant to be funny and light-hearted crack about Andrew Garfield's ass in that spandex suit (because my _GOD_ ) but it slowly grew more and more serious. Hopefully it's still entertaining :)
> 
> Un-beta'd, because good grammar is for loserz.

It's a phase. That's all this is, a dumb way to get over Gwen breaking up with him, which felt more definitive than any of his reluctant goodbyes ever did. God, that hurt.  
  
But Peter Parker is a strong, independent boy who don't need no sassy, beautiful girlfriend. So, uh, there. He's managing just fine.  
  
The songs help. It's stupid and inane, but it works. Peter puts in his power jams and lets the queens of the music industry tell him exactly why he's fine on his own, and he starts to feel like maybe they're right. He can totally handle this. Hell, he doesn't need some girl pushing at his emotions with her big doe eyes and her crooked smile.  
  
Fuck. This song isn't powerful enough. "Single Ladies" it is.   
  
Peter shoves his tiny iPod beneath the neck of his suit and flings into the night. He has crime to fight.   
  
He takes down two muggers during "S&M" and a sexual assaulter with Ke$ha. He's a little more aggressive than he usually is with this perp, but women are powerful, important creatures, and this asshole can't just take what he wants without permission. He needs his ass kicked to the curb.   
  
Peter takes a break around eleven and puts on "All I Do is Win." He gives himself exactly one song to work out his anger at sexual crimes— because seriously?— before taking to the streets again. _Come at me, New York_ , Peter thinks, _I'mma bout'a stomp a bitch, Spidey-style._  
  
~*~*~  
  
"And now to Stephanie Fields, our _Around Town_ reporter. Stephanie?"  
  
Gwen rolls her eyes and drums her fingers against the counter as she waits for her breakfast burrito to heat up. The gossip section of the morning news is so lame. Who cares about the New York party scene so much that they want to see it on the morning news? It's like an adult posting one of those dumb pictures on their Facebook with the caption "LOL, gave me a laugh!!" Give it a rest, newscasters.   
  
"A leaked tape hit YouTube last night that has taken the city by storm," Stephanie, a forty-year-old woman with a spray tan, says eagerly. "No one knows where the video came from or how they got this footage, but it's unmistakable: Spider-Man has discovered his booty."  
  
Gwen drops her breakfast burrito. What? Wait, okay. _What?_  
  
The screen cuts to a grainy black-and-white video, most likely security footage. Spider-Man pulls an mp3 player from the seam at his neck and messes with it for a moment. He replaces the player and rolls his shoulders, rocking back and forth on his feet almost like he's limbering up. But he isn't running, oh no. He's _dancing._  
  
"Spider-Man's fit physique is old news by now," Stephanie says over the feed, "as every woman, young or old, can attest. But never before has he done something so explicitly provocative."  
  
Spider-Man raises one finger in the air and shakes while he wiggles his butt, clearly in his groove. Gwen falls against the kitchen counter, stunned. What is Peter doing?   
  
"No one knows why Spider-Man has taken to dancing on rooftops, but there's one thing we do know: we want more."  
  
Do we? Is that what we want? Right now, all Gwen wants is to know that she can walk without falling over. Spider-Man's dancing on rooftops. No, he isn't just dancing, he's werking it. On rooftops. What??  
  
Gwen eats her breakfast burrito and resolves to ask him about it at school.   
  
Except she doesn't. Peter arrives wearing ear buds and looking like he's ready to take on the world, not even sparing Gwen a glance. He collects his books and smiles at Jessie Johnson, a pretty brunette in his chemistry class. She smiles back, and his own grin grows.  
  
Gwen slams her locker shut and flicks her hair over her shoulder. She's not jealous. Why should she be? They broke up. Peter can do whatever or whoever he wants. It's fine.  
  
Peter's different. He stands straighter and acts more involved. Gwen actually heard some insipid sophomore whisper to her friends, "Yeah, his Facebook says he's single now. Good for him, right? I know I'd get on that if he'd even give he a second glance."  
  
Gwen doesn't glare at the girl, because that's petty and totally inappropriate. And the girl doesn't smirk back, eyebrow raised. That's not an encounter that transpires in reality. Except it does.  
  
At the end of the school day Peter opens his locker and catches no less than four slips of paper. They're all phone numbers. He laughs and shoves them into his pocket. He doesn't throw them away. He keeps them. All. Who are they even from? Isn't that dangerous? One of those girls could be a serial killer! He should throw them out. It's for his own safety.   
  
Peter closes his locker and puts in his ear buds, walking down the hallway and out of the building. Gwen completely forgets to talk to him about his performance on the news. She'll ask him tomorrow, if he isn't too busy motorboating his hoards of new groupies. Fucking idiot.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Peter flops onto his bed, unable to hide an exhilarated laugh. What even was school today? He's never gotten so much attention out of the suit before, least of all from girls. He's a nobody, a quiet geek with a photography hobby and about six too many plaid shirts. Girls don't look at him.  
  
Well, one used to, but Peter won't let himself focus on that. Gwen shot him jealous looks all day, but he made himself ignore her. He reminded himself every so of Nicki's wise words, "Let them motherfuckers know there's plenty fish in the sea."  
  
Gwen's one girl. She's the most amazing girl in the Universe, sure, but that's irrelevant. Peter needs to get over her, for her sake, and he'll do it. And if she wants to break up with him, fine. He doesn't need her. He's fine on his own. He can do this.  
  
Plus, he got Miranda Hong's phone number today. Miranda Hong, as it Miranda I-Was-In-A-Jay-Z-Video Hong. She's a goddess. And she gave him her number. Holy _shit_. He has Miranda Hong's phone number.  
  
Peter laughs and puts on some Jason Derulo. He is fucking _on_ right now.  
  
After dinner with Aunt May he pulls on his suit and slings out into the city. He follows the sound of sirens to a bank robbery. The police have the area blocked off with patrol cars already, which means the robbers probably took hostages. Peter lands near the policeman holding the megaphone. That's one thing he's learned during his time as Spider-Man: there's always a policeman holding a megaphone. "Hey guys, need my help?"  
  
The policeman sighs. "Spider-Man. Five perps, sixteen hostages. We can't get in; they have every entrance blocked. Think you can get 'em?"  
  
"I know I can," Peter says, tossing the man a jaunty salute. "See you on the flip side, officer!"  
  
The roof access is easy to break into. Amateurs. Peter pushes in an earbud and turns on his music before swinging down into the building.  
  
He lands in a small room full of desks. He creeps to the door and listens for footsteps, moving into the hallway when he hears none. The lone man at the end of the hallway puts up a fight, but Peter webs him to the wall. He shouts out, alerting the other robbers of Peter's presence, before Peter seals his mouth closed with webbing.   
  
Three guys rush into the hallway, each toting a scary-looking machine gun. Peter vaults onto the ceiling and catches one of the guns with a web, throwing it to the opposite end of the hall. One of the men growls and shoots a cascade of bullets that Peter lurches to avoid. A bullet grazes his knee, which stings like a bitch, but Peter ignores it. He lands on the ground and uses webs to pull the remaining two guns away from the robbers. He runs toward them, kicking off the wall and flipping to web both their faces at once. The men drop to their knees and scrabble at the webbing.   
  
"You guys make it so easy," Peter comments. They put their hands right there, together. So easy to web them to their faces. "See how you look like you're hiding your faces in your hands? Take advantage of that. Think about your actions here. Would your grandma approve?"  
  
One man lets out a low groan and Peter grins. "Thought so."  
  
He runs into the atrium of the bank, where the last robber is guarding the hostages. The robber grabs for a hostage, a young Asian woman rocking a power suit, and uses her to shield his body. He points the gun at her head— how stereotypical— and crows, "Touch me and I kill her, Spider-Man."  
  
"You wanna dance?" Peter goads, heart thrumming. "I can dance." He jams in his other earbud and presses at the button on his iPod under his suit. He's gonna take this motherhugger down to Britney Spears. He rolls his shoulders, letting the bass line settle in his spine. "Let's go."  
  
Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and swings up forcing the robber to turn to watch him. Once his attention is diverted, the robber's grip on the gun loosens, and Peter hurls himself down to kick the gun out of his hand. The robber tosses the girl away with an outraged cry and pulls out a knife.   
  
"If I said I liked your knife, would you hold it against me?" Peter sings along, improvising the words a little. He webs the knife away and shimmies his hips, thrilled at his joke. Peter somersaults through the air and webs the guy's hands behind his back, landing near the front entrance. Five guys down, zero to go.  
  
"We're all clear," Peter calls out the front door. The police cheer and Peter laughs, bobbing his head to the beat of a song. He turns to the hostages. "You guys all good?"  
  
One woman sobs in relief. "We're safe," the man next to her says, "thanks to you, Spider-Man."  
  
Peter bows to them. "Then I bid you all adieu, and have a happy Wednesday night." He retreats to the office room and rocks out, turning his music up. He loves getting to stop alleyway crimes, don't get him wrong, but there's something awesome about high-stakes gigs like this. Peter just saved sixteen lives. Safe in the solitude of the tiny room, he throws both arms over his head and rocks his hips like a stripper. He saved sixteen lives. He's a sexy, sexy guy. Hell yeah.  
  
The song changes to something faster and, spurred by adrenaline, Peter flips onto a wall and shakes his butt. Yeah, Spider-Man can twerk. Get over it. The club can't even _handle_ him right now.  
  
Peter snorts to himself and makes his way to the roof. Two days of listening to girl-power pop songs and he's twerking in a bank. His life is out of control.  
  
But it isn't, really. This is the most in control Peter's felt in a long time. He's got his spider thing pretty much on lock by now, and that's all he really has going on. It's kind of nice to live simply like this.  
  
(He really misses complicated, though, because complicated involved soft blonde hair that smelled of strawberries and a soft, warm smile that practically gave him a suntan it was so bright. Complicated meant looking forward to the weekend, when he would sneak into her room and they would watch cartoons and the Discovery Channel all day long.)  
  
Peter groans and throws himself off the roof, lazily shooting a web and swinging east. He's got another few hours of patrol left tonight, he can't be sad. He's not allowed.  
  
He finds an abandoned, dark roof and dances around until he feels better. It takes a few songs, but that's okay. Peter can afford ten minutes of boogie time. He gets a few more petty criminals and a teenaged drug dealer. He almost let's the kid go because he's clearly poor and using the money for good reasons, until the kid says, "Hey, I always wondered: what are you _on_ , man? And where can I get some?"  
  
"Life, kid," Peter says, webbing the kids hands together. This is a moment for him, he realizes, to give advice. Spider-Man's a role model as well as a superhero. "That's the only thing to get high on. Everything else just brings you down, in some way or another. Messes with your brain, your blood, everything. Before you know it, your entire life is generated around getting your next fix. And you gotta ask yourself, is the temporary high worth it, when you know it'll hurt you in the long-term?"  
  
And oh, this isn't about drugs at all. Peter's never done drugs, but he's been addicted, and his addiction won't let him be.  
  
"Fuck, man," the kid says, eyes wide, "that's deep as shit. You're really smart."  
  
If he were really smart, he'd be over Gwen by now. "No, man," Peter says, "I'm in recovery. You'll get there, too."  
  
The kid nods dumbly. "Yeah, bro. Yeah. I will. Thanks, Spider-Man."  
  
Peter inhales and lets it out in a puff. "You're welcome. See you on the flip side, kid." He waves and flings himself onto a nearby roof. Alone, he rests his hands on his knees and shakes his head to clear it. He doesn't know why, but he's been thinking about Gwen a lot tonight. It's throwing him off-balance. He's not focused.   
  
He sets off west, toward Queens. He's taking the rest of the night off. He'll get back into things tomorrow.  
  
What he doesn't know is that the bank robbers hijacked the security system of the bank and rigged it to a live internet feed. Spider-Man's impromptu dancing session in the office room hit every major media outlet in a matter of hours. His tomorrow is about to be a very interesting day.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Gwen cannot believe it. She cannot. She's half-convinced someone else is out there, masquerading as Spider-Man and slandering his good name. But only one person can stick to walls long enough to _twerk_ on them, _Jesus_ , and that's Peter Parker.  
  
Because Peter Parker twerks now, apparently. That's a thing he can do.  
  
Gwen's trying not to find that sexy. It's difficult. Peter has a _great_ ass, and it looks _really_ good in motion.  
  
But seriously, Peter's personality change is scaring her a little. It's not that she wants him to mope, necessarily, but it weirds her out that they broke up and now he's taking breaks between patrols to dance. Possibly gleefully. And okay, Gwen doesn't mean to whine, but that hurts a little. She's moping. She's moping a _lot_. And she may or may not have watched a bunch of YouTube clips of Spider-Man recently while eating chocolate ice cream.   
  
She misses him, and she's the one who did the breaking up. So why is Peter giving New York the hottest free show in town while she's steadily working through a gallon of Chubby Hubby? That seems unfair.  
  
Speaking of, Gwen should buy some Half Baked. She'll drop by the bodega tomorrow after school. After she has a serious and concerned conversation with Peter about shaking his ass in the middle of a bank robbery.  
  
God, her life is weird.  
  
The next morning, the news has a field day. She's never seen the newscasters so openly amused, and it's unsettling. The hashtag #WerkItSpidey is trending on Twitter. The world is tilting on its axis, and Gwen's a glass of water about to spill over. She needs to talk to Peter.  
  
She sees him at his locker and strides over. "Hey, Peter, can we talk?"  
  
The look Peter gives her is a devastating blend of pained and hopeful. "Uh, yeah, I guess."  
  
"Are you okay?" Gwen crosses her arms to keep from reaching them out to him.  
  
"I'm fine, yeah," Peter says, scratching at his jaw. "I mean, I'm not great, but, you know, I'm working on it. Why?"  
  
So he isn't blissfully over her. That shouldn't feel good, but it does. "Because of your stunts on the news," she says. "Peter, you can't do that anymore. It's weird."  
  
Peter furrows his eyebrows. "What stunts?"  
  
"Oh come on," Gwen says, laughing. "You have to have seen the news. All the dancing? On the roof and in the bank? And the way you acted yesterday was ridiculous."  
  
"Wait, the news caught me dancing?" Peter asks. "And how was I acting? Where is this coming from?"  
  
Gwen rolls her eyes, lightheaded from vindictive joy that he's still the same oblivious Peter he always has been. "There are security cameras all over New York, and a few of them have caught you. It's been on the news. And yeah, you know, with the whole swagger thing and the flirting with girls. It was strange."  
  
Peter frowns and purses his lips at her. "I was feeling really good yesterday," he replies. A light flickers in his eyes, and Gwen realizes that he's getting angry. "Actually, yesterday was the first day in a long time that I've felt actually good about myself since you decided to dump me. And I don't think I appreciate you telling me that my happiness is 'ridiculous.' I don't care if people are making fun of me. I feel _good_ , Gwen, and if I want to shake my ass all over the city news, I'm going to do it. All the girls who left their numbers in my locker yesterday certainly didn't mind me being 'strange.' So, if you don't mind, I'm going to live my life how I want to. Feel free to be jealous, or whatever it is that you are right now, but don't infect me with it. I'm done with that. Thanks, actually, because I missed you a lot last night and I was really close to coming to your bedroom window and begging you to take me back. Now I'm glad I didn't."  
  
With that, he scoops out his books and slams his locker closed, striding off for class. Gwen falls against the bank of lockers, stunned.  
  
He's right. He's completely right, and Gwen's an asshole. She was jealous yesterday and she was weirded out by his happiness, which can only mean that she wants him to be miserable. She's miserable, and misery loves company. But now she knows Peter's been miserable over her and it's even _worse_ , because he's trying to find happiness and she's trying to tear it away from him. She's a horrible person.   
  
She needs to fix this. She needs to apologize. But first, she thinks, she needs to give him space. Peter deserves that, at least. So she'll keep her mouth shut, let him flirt and wiggle and do whatever he wants, until he heals from her. And if he still wants her back, fantastic, but she has to accept that he might heal past her, and that's okay, too. She will learn to respect whatever he chooses.   
  
Gwen makes her way to class and sits across the room from Peter. She can feel him stewing from six rows away and it strengthens her resolve. She won't bother him again. As long as he's being careful about his secret identity, he's being safe, and that's all she can worry about.   
  
~*~*~  
  
Fuck Gwen Stacy. Fuck her entitled attitude, pigeonholing him into this awkward, shy box for herself. Peter doesn't _belong_ to her. She doesn't get to berate him for living how he wants to live. He could go out and get a job at a strip club tomorrow, and she can't say dick about it. She doesn't get to break up with him and still expect him to fall all over himself for her.  
  
Peter Parker is a strong, independent boy, and he really doesn't need Gwen Stacy in his life right now.   
  
That night, he buys the new Lana Del Ray album. He takes down a few criminals and, in plain view of a street camera, does an acrobatically sensual dance that he just knows will make the news. How's that for ridiculous?  
  
He goes to bed feeling fiery with anger, and it's so much better than feeling sad. Why mope about what used to be when he could be excited about what _will_ be?   
  
Peter's going to teach Gwen the meaning of 'ridiculous,' and it's going to be fun as fuck.  
  
The next day, he does the bump'n'grind on the Charging Bull to "Fancy." The day after that, he pole-dances on the spire of the Chrysler building. After that, he dances on a bench in Central Park so provocatively he's actually blushing under his mask. Every day of the week, he finds something new to do. And every night, he goes on the internet and finds himself plastered everywhere. He takes to watching the morning news.  
  
After a while, it stops being about Gwen. The truth is, Peter genuinely loves dancing. He was always gangly and arrhythmic before the bite, but now he has grace and dexterity enough to really have fun with himself. His hips are fluid like the rest of him, and they move sinuously when he asks them to. He's no Shakira, of course, but he's been watching her videos, and he thinks he could learn to do the things she does. He wants to do them.   
  
And, secretly, he loves the attention. Peter Parker is a dorky teenager, but Spider-Man's the new sex icon of New York City. He's on everyone's Facebook, he's all over Twitter and Tumblr and YouTube. According to about twenty different girls on his Feed, he's "so good at moving his body, I want him to move it against mine." Which, _wow_. Peter's hormones are _all over that_.  
  
Some nights he doesn't dance. He doesn't have to prove anything to anyone, so he's unpredictable as a flickering flame, and it's awesome. He's a leaf on the wind, bitches, watch how he fucking soars.  
  
Okay, so the character that said that died a moment later, so that's not his best quote, maybe, but _whatever_.   
  
He finally rekindles his relationship with Aunt May. Actually, they're closer than ever. He's been so busy trying to grow up that he forgot how much he loves her. Gwen's been his support system for a long time because she knows about Spider-Man, but that doesn't mean she's his only crutch.   
  
Now that he's focusing on it, he can see how alone Aunt May's gotten. With Uncle Ben gone and Peter flying out every night to fight crime, she's had no one around for months. It nearly breaks Peter's heart. So, when he isn't at school or saving lives, he's home with her, helping around the house or watching TV with her while she knits. He takes up knitting, too, because why not? He isn't trying to impress anyone, so fuck it. And knitting is therapeutic, or something. It's nice. He's making dishcloths, and those are useful as hell.  
  
Aunt May doesn't get emotional over having him around more often, but Peter hears her whisper, "We did good, Ben. We did good with him," one night before bed, and he has to listen to two Beyoncé CDs to keep from crying like a twelve year old.   
  
Slowly he repairs things with her, and he tames down the ostentatious dancing, and he gets his life on track. He's so used to feeling like his life is a precarious spiderweb, one string away from collapsing on itself, that he's forgotten how it feels to stand on solid ground. His grades are good, his sleep schedule is regular, Spider-Man's track record is shining. He's on bedrock, now.  
  
He goes to a Lady Gaga concert and lets loose like he's never let loose before. He makes eight or nine friends who dance with him through the entire thing, and he gets a few phone numbers, too. He doesn't call any of them, because he's thriving on the single life and his love life is still fragile as spider silk, but it's a nice sentiment, regardless.   
  
For the first time since the bite, he starts looking at schools. It seemed impossible to balance Spider-Man with a full course of university classes, but nowadays Peter's managing just fine. He thinks he could do it. Like it or not, Spider-Man isn't a paid job, and selling photographs to the Bugle barely covers Peter's food expenses, let alone bills or taxes or anything like that. A college degree will help him find a steady job, and he'll play it from there. He'd love to eventually have a career in mechanical engineering or genetic research, like his dad. One step at a time, he thinks he can get there.   
  
Life continues this way for three months. If anyone were to look at Peter, they'd say he was well-adjusted, happy, and confident. They'd be two-thirds right.  
  
No matter how much Peter hides behind his jams and his vigilante justice, he can't escape the sense of being alone. He has no best friends, no casual acquaintances, no girlfriend. He has Flash, who ended up being a decent guy after he finally got over all the rage built up in his body, and they hang out once a week or so, but that's it. That's Peter Parker's social life.  
  
He tries to go on dates, uses some of the numbers shoved into his locker every once in a while, and each one of them feels empty. The girls are smart, funny, and beautiful, and Peter enjoys having conversation with them over dinner, but it's always clear by the end of the night that Peter won't be calling them again. It's sad, but each girl seems to understand. No one can replace Gwen Stacy in Peter's heart.  
  
He ignores the problem for a while, and for a while more he gets angry that she can say such horrible things to him and he can still love her so much. But fight as he may, he knows he's incomplete without her. Peter Parker is doomed to love Gwen Stacy for the rest of his life.  
  
It's only fair that she be doomed to love him, in return.  
  
Which is why Peter finds himself suiting up and packing a camera in his backpack. Spider-Man has one last show to give.  
  
He finds a nice, secluded roof with decent lighting and sets up his tripod. Once he's sure everything is set up, he turns the camera on and prepares himself for his speech.  
  
"Hello, citizens of New York." He waves awkwardly and clears his throat. "Just to prove it's me, here." He flings a web at some nearby scaffolding and does a jumping somersault off of it. "If you've been watching the news at all lately, you know that I've been, uh, having a little fun on my patrols these last few months.   
  
"Honestly, it's nice to let go a little. Being Spider-Man can get dark sometimes, you know? And dancing around in the suit may be stupid, but I need to do it because I've grown to hate this thing, and I can't. I want to be there for all of you. I want you to feel safe in this city. And I know some of you hate me and think I'm secretly evil, or something, but I'm not. I'm just a guy who has cool powers and feels responsible to use those powers for good.   
  
"I think I'm getting off-track, here. The point is, I've been goofing off a lot and it's been fun, but it pushed someone very important to me away. You know who you are. I am so sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I'm such an idiot for saying those things to you and shoving my baggage in your face. I don't like this, where we are. I don't like seeing you every day and feeling empty inside. So this is me, Spider-Man, telling you that I would give up every Beyoncé song in the world if it meant getting your friendship back. No dance in this world makes me happier than you do. I know we're safer apart, but goddammit, Gwe—irlfriend, I'm not healthier without you in my life.   
  
Peter rubs a hand over his head, feeling the bump of rubber veins moving over each other. It soothes him a little. "I don't know what else to say," he says truthfully. "I'm not good at this. But I want us to talk again. I want us to be okay. I'm ready to do whatever you need to make that happen. So, uh, thanks for listening."  
  
He walks over and turns the camera off. He posts the video to YouTube from a public computer using an anonymous account and goes home. He's a mess of nerves, half-convinced that this video is the stupidest thing he's done to date, but he holds fast to his commitment. Gwen needs to see it, she needs to understand how Peter feels about her.   
  
He settles in with Aunt May and watches one of her procedural cop shows, resolutely ignoring the hits marker on the YouTube page on his phone. If it works, it works. If not, he'll try again. Peter isn't giving up on Gwen again.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"— not good at this. But I want us to talk again. I want us to be okay. I'm ready to do whatever you need to make that happen. So, uh, thanks for listening."  
  
Gwen closes her locker and tries to ignore the audio coming from a nearby smartphone. Peter's video was on every news station and every major website by dawn, and everyone and their brother is talking about it. _Spider-Man has a girlfriend? They broke up? Who breaks up with Spider-Man? What a sweet video! I hope she takes him back!_  
  
She cried in her room before school, and she's going to cry again now, in the hallway, if she doesn't get herself under control. Peter's video is the most heartbreaking thing she's ever seen. He's the one who deserves the apology, not her.  
  
She's spent a lot of time thinking about it over the months. She remembers every word she said to Peter, and the derisive, cruel way she said them, too. She hadn't meant them at all. All she wanted was to ask him about the dancing. It was supposed to be that simple. Instead, she fucked everything up, and they've spent three months in silent agony, circling each other like two moons in different orbits.   
  
Gwen wants to fall at Peter's feet and apologize until she's blue in the face. She wants to buy him every pop CD in Manhattan, even if it runs her college fund dry. She's so sick of feeling guilty and ashamed, she'd do anything to make it go away.  
  
The problem is, she doesn't know how. Peter is right there, down the hallway, shoving books into his backpack, and Gwen is frozen in place. How can she possibly tell him all the ways she's sorry? How can she put into words all of her self-hatred and fear? How can she even look at him and expect him to meet her eye? The answer is, she can't. She can't do this.  
  
Gwen swallows past a mouthful of sour anxiety and goes to class. She can't do this. She can't talk to him. She can't.  
  
Peter doesn't say a word all day, but Gwen can feel his eyes on her, patient, painful. At the end of the day he follows her to her locker, and Gwen wants the ground to swallow her whole.  
  
"Did you see it?" he asks quietly. Gwen nods, not trusting herself to speak, and Peter's face falls. "I see. Well, I'm sorry, Gwen. I don't know what else to say. I'll see you around, I guess."  
  
He turns to leave and makes it four steps before Gwen finally finds her voice. "Peter!"  
  
He stops, but doesn't turn around. "Yeah?"  
  
He's hunched over, ready for another rejection, ready for Gwen to leave his life forever, and it breaks Gwen's heart all over again. "I bought a Bruno Mars CD the day after," she says, praying that he'll understand. "And Justin Timberlake, and Jason Mraz, and One Direction. My phone is full of sappy love songs. I listen to them every day."  
  
Peter turns around, looking torn somewhere between confused and hopeful. "What are you saying?"  
  
"I listened to all of these men sing about falling in love," she says, "and I thought of you. I thought of you every single time. Peter, I don't know how to make this better. I don't know how— I don't—"  
  
Gwen sighs, frustrated, and Peter steps forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Gwen," he says softly, smiling from ear to ear, "you just did."  
  
He bends his neck and kisses her, and Gwen's frustration evaporates. He understands. Of course he does, he's Peter Parker and she's Gwen Stacy, and they've always understood each other. Gwen's breath shakes into the kiss, and Peter wraps his arms around her waist. She breaks away and hugs him fiercely. "Peter, I am so sorry," she whispers. The words come so easily now. "I was so mean to you. You have every right to dance around on TV and flirt with girls and, hell, whatever you want. Just don't ever leave, you got it?"  
  
Peter chuckles and sniffles. "Yeah, I got it. Love you."  
  
Gwen closes her eyes and feels a tear streak down her face. "Love you, too."  
  
Peter pulls away, scrubbing at his cheeks with his fists. "Does this mean I can keep my music?"  
  
Gwen laughs, feeling lighter than she has in months. "Yes, Peter, you can keep your music."   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Take it away, Stephanie."  
  
"Thanks, Tom," Stephanie Fields says, smiling brightly at the camera. "Well, folks, it looks like Spider-Man got his answer after all. One week ago, this video was released, in which Spider-Man begs his apparent girlfriend to take him back."  
  
The feed cuts to a copy of the video. Spider-Man, looking uncharacteristically shy, scratches at his head and offers to throw away his CD collection. The feed cuts back to Stephanie.  
  
"No one knows who has claimed the superhero's heart, but it's clear that she's here for good. Here's footage from the Bank of America tower, last night."  
  
Spider-Man lands, carrying a hooded girl in his arms. He lets the girl go and pulls a boom box out of backpack. He sets it down and presses some buttons. The girls bends over, laughing. Spider-Man wiggles his hips at her stepping closer and closer until she throws up her hands and starts dancing. Spider-Man spins her and bumps their hips together.  
  
"As you can see," Stephanie says warmly, "the pair have rekindled their romance. So, from all of us here at New York News, congratulations Spider-Man. We're all proud of you."  
  
Aunt May turns off the TV and smiles, letting a tear drop onto her knitting. "We did good with him, Ben," she whispers. "We did good."

**Author's Note:**

> :') Aunt May is my favorite, okay?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/critiques are always welcome!


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